Playing for Keeps
by blc
Summary: SPOILER s4e03, The Man in the Outhouse. Sweets' realizations at the diner and in his office about his two patients. Thanks to your reviews, this will now be an in progress fic. Bones is the property of Fox & its producers.
1. Chapter 1

"I'm Jason DeFry," her date said, smiling nervously.

"DeFry, eh?" He repeated, perched on the edge of the stool like a cat about to spring, his verbal repeat a way of filing it away in that fact-retentive mind of his, and unsettling his opponent. She was clearly uncomfortable with our being there, and as I watched the three of them and introduced myself, I thought back too late to their interaction by the elevator as I came off and she left. He'd mentioned she had a date, and she was angry about something, the sparks flying between them as he said something about her gut never working out. I hate when I come in in the middle of their conversations-- I mean, they're speaking English, but it's impossible to tell what they're talking about.

"Did you know that she had a date?" I asked, and he didn't meet my eye as he said, "Slipped my mind."

She was confused, and beginning to be furious, and he was watching the poor bastard sitting across the table from her like a hawk, then started interrogating him in a seemingly harmless manner.

Seemingly harmless-- and yet, clearly, not. As much as I was supposed to be their therapist, and as much as this situation clearly highlighted some of the underlying tensions in their partnership, I couldn't help but take his side. "He's never been married," I added to what was quickly becoming a bad scene out of a romantic comedy of errors, as I watched his reaction when her date got up to double-cheek-kiss her. Studied amusement, studied being the operative word. I've been a fool. I shouldn't have accused him of not having years of psychological training, what, less than an hour ago? That look he gave me as he mumbled "serious impulse control issues" around his mouthful of cereal should have tipped me off. You don't get to be a Special Agent without being able to play a deep game. The fact that his Ranger file was so confidential that they wouldn't give me a copy to read, even though I'd insisted that the information could be important to my assessment of their continuing ability to work together should have told me something. Come to think of it, there was very little information in her security file about her overseas humanitarian work, which I suppose gave them deep secrets in common to keep.

"Coldplay," I added, then said it again, unable to stop myself. I should keep my mouth shut, stay out of his attempt to interfere in her private life, his blatant attempt to manipulate her and undermine her feelings of security about the date she had chosen, all of it finally apparent to me. She, however, looked annoyed and confused, but did not glean his deeper intention, behind what to her must seem like the annoying interruption of what? a brother? surely she wasn't that obtuse. I was violating every canon of objectivity I had sworn to uphold, but my admiration and shock as I finally realized the depth of the game he was playing overrode every sense of neutrality I'd ever parroted back in my counseling clinic, and I found myself reinforcing his assurances that her date was a loser. And, I mean, he was. I mean, Coldplay? I got a little too carried away, though, when I told her she was hot, though of course it's true, I mean, you'd have to be blind not to think so But as I said it, he shot me a split-second look as he made the decision of whether I, too, was competition, or merely an idiot. Please, I'm just an idiot, I thought to myself, willing him to hear and agree with me, silently. Apparently he did, as he turned his attention back to her, content to have disrupted her evening, and annoyed and distracted her. A less deep player would have tried to wrap things up, then and there, but he? He knew better. Having drawn her attention back to him, he refocused the subject to a more neutral, yet shared topic, work, shifting but maintaining the focus on him throughout.

Really-- it was brilliant, and if he hadn't needed the reinforcement of the work excuse that my profiling brought him, I'd never have seen him in action, seen this completely different side of him, and a completely unguarded, unsettled, side of her. I was amazed, now, that he'd allowed me to come, but I suppose he'd have found a way to get me out of there if I hadn't played along. But by saying it? "He's never been married?" I'd helped realign the two of them, against the date, reinforcing her instinctive defense of her partner against her date's mis-assumption of what was ocurring in the conversation. Now, I'd taken his side, and there was no going back, even if I'd wanted to. He was too much of a master player not to have boxed me in, not just for today, but from here on out. He would use every resource at his disposal, and I now had no doubt that if I ceased to be useful, or worse, began to obstruct him, then I would be disposed of, most definitely.

How long had he been playing this game? From the start? From the first time he rescued her, or she him? Before or after that line he once mentioned, and that clearly no longer meant anything to him, as much as he pretended to observe it as he dragged her, slowly, patiently, inexorably, toward whatever realization he wanted from her. Coming in two years into their partnership had done me no good-- I didn't see them enough out of the office to know how far this had come. More field observation would be necessary, before I could possibly tell, though at this point, it would be either a futile academic exercise, or an active aiding and abetting of his plan. And how long was he planning to play it? That pesky best friend/older brother role was not one he intended to play much longer, if I had to guess.

- - - - - - -

The next time I saw them both together, it was for our regular session, and I was taken aback at the way she responded to his gibe about "naked guys in her apartment." Something happened there, and her attempt to claim that he was the one with a problem discussing their other relationships was a little too heated, and she failed to consciously notice how nonresponsive his "I do alright for myself," was, as his body was turned completely towards hers. His apparent deflection and his refocusing of the conversation by taking credit for "being a good influence" on her ideas of monogamy though, provoked a reaction from her that I don't think even he was expecting, after I attempted to redirect the conversation with my babble about surrogate relationships. Surrogate, my ass. He wanted to be in a surrogate relationship with her about as much as I wanted Coldplay tickets. But the way she responded, seizing on my psychobabble and admitting both that she felt "the sting of rejection" and that all her relationships were "temporary?" Even he was taken aback, and paused for a moment before replying so intimately that I felt like a voyeur in my own office. He never took his attention from her as she gazed back at him, and I was shut out, completely, a mere observer as I watched her expression shift and her chest heave with some deep emotion. And then, he decided she'd had enough, and he again deflected the moment, joking about "a purely conversational basis," and replacing her broken date with himself for the evening, her attention fully focused, still, on him.

I knew he would never allow it, but I was so fascinated by what had just happened that I couldn't help but try to follow, to see if he'd include me in the next stage of the game. I was surprised when she was the one to cut me off, though, recovering quickly enough to throw my own words about forming bonds outside their partnership at me, to uncontestable effect. And the split-second look he gave me as he helped her on with her coat? It was clear that if I ever mentioned out loud to anyone, even to them, what had just happened here, he would find a way to dispose of me as a tool that had ceased to be useful.

It wasn't a game, though, I realized. I'd been using the wrong metaphor. He wasn't playing a game-- he was playing for keeps.


	2. Chapter 2

I'd just walked out the entrance of the Hoover and around the corner toward the Metro stop when his arm slung across my should

I'd just walked out the entrance of the Hoover and around the corner toward the Metro stop when his arm slung across my shoulder, jerking me slightly into his side. I hadn't even seen him there-- which was, I suppose, the point.

"Walk with me Sweets, will you?" His expression was carefully amused as he let go, then waited for me to fall into step.

"Where do you want to go?" I managed to keep my voice from shaking. He scared the crap out of me, coming out of nowhere like that.

He shrugged. "Doesn't matter. There's a cop bar a few blocks from here, I'll buy you a beer. You ever been to O'Reilly's?"

"No," I replied. "I rather assumed I should allow my patients some social release valve free from my observation. O'Reilly's isn't really the place for a shrink and a profiler."

He gave me a glance, and half-smiled. "You're a pretty smart kid, Sweets. Tell you what, no one's going to get creeped out if we sit at the bar for half an hour, and then you can get back to your evening."

He stuck his hands in his pockets and looked at me from time to time as we walked, dodging the other pedestrians and commuters, making small talk about the sports games on for the weekend.

"I've got to admit, Agent Booth, I'm don't follow hockey much, I'm more of a college ball fan, myself."

"Yeah? Who do you peg for the finals this year? I mean, I know it's early, but after the first month it's usually pretty easy to tell who's going to end up in the playoffs." It seemed just like small talk, but I wondered. Was he trying to disarm me before asking me a favor? Was he going to tell me something he wanted to butter me up for? I had no idea, anymore, what to think about him-- I was completely thrown for a loop by last week's events. And I'm sure it was no coincidence he'd coralled me tonight. They were supposed to be in again for their regular appointment, tomorrow.

I answered, and he ragged on my picks, citing their stats from last season and the graduating class as reasons why "This season, they'll totally blow. You'd better pick a backup team for the pool, kid." The calling me 'kid' thing didn't normally bother me. I mean, yes, he was what, twelve years older than me? I was secure enough in my own abilities to mostly ignore older agents' attempts to unsettle me in the hope that I would stop prying into their thought processes as I tried to ensure they ability to perform in their roles. But even before last week's realizations, he unsettled me, and his use of the term 'kid,' while perhaps even an affectionate annoyance, had the desired effect of making me feel defensive.

When we reached the bar, he opened the door and stood aside as I entered, then came past me with a clap on the shoulder to sit at some stools at the back of the bar. An older Irish gentleman, white haired and looking like a prototypical leprechaun, was polishing glasses behind the bar. "Boothy, my boy!" he said, as he came over to greet us. Booth grimaced, then said, "Billy, I told you not to call me that. It's only my mother's lesson, learned at her knee, never to shoot little old leprechauns, that keeps me from teaching you a lesson. Anyway--" he continued, half turning to me, and slapping me on the shoulder hard enough to sting, "this is Dr. Lance Sweets, he's a profiler, among other things. You can call him Sweets."

Great. I hate being called Sweets. What happened to Doctor? Or Lance? Another psychological tactic of his, choosing the name by which he will call you and deal with you, forcing you to either accept it, and bend to his version of things, or insist, probably futilely, that he work on your terms. I wondered, now, if there was anything he didn't do on his terms.

"Well, nice to meet you, Sweets," the old man twinkled, "what can I get you? You look like a Bass man, if I'm any judge."

I nodded, surprised. "I am, actually, although a..."

"Black and Tan might suit, right?" He smiled and walked back to the taps as I looked around. The bar wasn't too full-- there were some people at booths and tables near the front, and no one behind us. I realized now that we were sitting so he had a view of the entrance and all corners, and that the only people who would pass behind us would be the bartender and whatever waitstaff was working in the kitchen.

"Billy always knows what you want to drink," Booth offered. "He just asks the first time to be polite."

"Well then, what are you having?" I asked, turning to him.

He half-smiled. "I don't know, I'll see what he brings me. He's like Sid that way."

Ah. The elusive Sid, whom I'd never met. His establishment closed before I began work at the Bureau, though there were tales of days gone by about his pies and eclectic menu choices, which always seemed to fit the bill-- and tales of terrible indigestion, if you ordered something he hadn't picked out for you. "Just take what he gives you" seemed to have been the operating instruction.

"I never met Sid," I answered.

He shook his head, with a rueful expression. "You really missed something. That was practically my second home for a while. The diner's okay, but it's just not the same. Ruby knows how I take my coffee, but she only knows I want pie, I still have to pick what flavor and say if I want ice cream or not." He sighed in mock disappointment, then shot me his Charm Smile.

That Charm Smile is a thing of legend around the Bureau. No man, woman, or range master was immune-- he always got what he wanted, even as everyone knew they were being conned into doing something they might not otherwise do. But the chance to get a thanks and another smile had even grizzled old agents wrapped around his finger-- when he felt like being obvious about something. The only one who truly seemed to be immune was Caroline Julian, and even then, she usually did what he wanted, too.

"I presume by the Charm Smile that you want something from me?" I might as well be blunt-- it seemed to work sometimes for his partner. He laughed out loud, then took his drink on the rocks, some amber liquid, from the bartender as he returned and slid them across. He took a small sip, then smiled and took another.

"Johnnie Black Label, Billy? You're too good to me." The old man laughed at him, then watched me until I took a sip of my Black and Tan.

"Perfect, Mr. O'Reilly," I said. It really was, one of the best I'd had since that week I spent in Ireland.

He laughed and said, "Oh, call me Billy, everyone does," then walked off.

I was still looking at him, waiting for his response, though I wouldn't be surprised if that laugh was all that I got.

He took another sip of his drink, and then shot me a sidelong glance. "Just a few rules of engagement, here, just so we're clear."

My breath hitched in my chest. He was actually going to acknowledge that I was onto him? "I'm listening, though I've got to hear them out before I agree." He smiled, as if he knew I was bluffing. The fact that I'd even come with him, rather than pled off, was all the answer he needed, and he knew it.

He lifted his glass for another sip, then set it down on the bar, toying with the glass and looking straight ahead with a small smile on his face. Seemingly looking straight ahead. Even though he wasn't looking at me, the weight of his regard had me pinned in place. "Rule number one. I've got it under control. Rule number two. Do _not_ push her, I already told you that once during Gormogon, and I will _not_ repeat myself a third time. Rule number three. Comments about Coldplay and the general loser status of her dates are welcome. Comments about her physical appearance are not. Rule number four. She is my partner, and it stays that way, no matter what. Period. Care to guess about rule number five?"

I lifted my glass and took a long pull as I thought, a shiver passing down my spine as I realized exactly how much he had it all under control, and considered the tone he'd taken of friendly joking around. He was nothing if not serious, though. "Follow your lead?"

He shot me a glance, and then smiled, widely. "Yeah. See, I told you, Sweets, you're a pretty smart kid."

Even as part of me was scared shitless, my inner twelve year old was basking in that smile, like a geek who'd helped the Captain of the football team pass a math test. Well, since he was being frank, and I was now completely committed, I figured I might as well ask. "How long a lead, exactly?"

His expression sobered, and he picked up his glass again to take another sip. Despite the fact that it looked like he was drinking, I finally noticed that the overall drink level hadn't really gone down. I was drinking a hell of a lot faster than he was, and I certainly wasn't gulping mine down. "As long as it takes, Sweets, as long as it takes." Then he raised his hand, and called "Billy, some pretzels, or are you getting cheap in your old age?" When he looked back at me, it was clear that part of the conversation was essentially over, so I took another pull of my beer and looked up at the television.

"Why me?"

He snorted. "Like I said, you're a pretty smart kid. And you're a romantic."

God. Was I that obvious? I'd never had any intention of breaking them up, I honestly wanted the two of them to keep working together, but the sheer number of rules they'd broken on the other's behalf made keeping them in therapy safer than letting them back out only to make them come back in, maybe work with someone besides me who didn't see what a good partnership they had. We sat in silence, watching the game, as I pondered some more, and worked on my drink. When he'd mostly finished his, he looked at his watch. The half hour he'd mentioned was nearly up, and he shot me another sidelong look, and then spoke, turning fully to look me in the eye.

"Well, it's seven o'clock and Bones has been at the lab since six-thirty this morning, time for a little rousting out. But I'll answer your question a little more, if you like."

I nodded, my mouth dry. Which question? His voice dropped, so low that anyone standing right next to us still might not have heard us, and his eyes darkened, blacker than night. "You asked how long a lead, Sweets? Well, here's a measure of things. I staked out a Serbian general once for two months, following him through scree-riddled foothills in the middle of winter while he met with all of his bully boys, until I knew who all of them were. And then I got all of them, over a week. Bones? Well, she's more of a challenge. But I'm patient, Sweets. And I always hit what I aim at."

Then he stood, and slapped a twenty on the table, calling, "Another one for Sweets, here, Billy, and keep the change." Clapping me on the shoulder, he smiled and said "Coldplay. Friggin' brilliant. See you tomorrow."

"See you."

He was off, without a backward glance, but then again, why would he? I was no threat, and he was the one who was brilliant.


	3. Chapter 3

I was sitting at the coffee shop I sometimes worked out of in the mornings, working on a paper that had been accepted for publ

I was sitting at the coffee shop I sometimes worked out of in the mornings, working on a paper that had been accepted for publication, and contemplating the last night's conversation with him at O'Reilly's, when she spoke from behind me.

"Don't think I don't know what he's doing."

I startled so hard I knocked my knee under the table, and my coffee went flying, all across my papers. She laughed, but grabbed some napkins from the dispenser and put them down across the rapidly-spreading spill. She picked them up, tossed them, and brought over some more as I gaped at her, thoughts of running ink and spoiled edits forgotten. She finished blotting up the coffee, tossed the rest of the napkins, ordered two more cups, her eyes on me all the while as she took them and fixed them, then sat down across from me, handing me mine. Black, one sugar. How did she know?

"You do?" Shit, real smooth. Way to give it away. "I mean, what? Who? I don't know what you're talking about." Lance, he's going to kill you. But, well, she's sitting across from you, and he's not, and she's pretty dangerous herself.

She half-smiled, that mysterious, seductive smile that puts the Mona Lisa to shame. "Don't play dumb. You know what I'm talking about, and while you're an excellent profiler, you're a terrible liar. You should work on that."

I took a sip of my coffee-- she even got the Kona roast down. What else was I going to learn she already knew today? She was gazing at me with those unreadable azure eyes, unblinking. I blinked. It seemed like I was doing that a lot with these two, lately.

"Well, I'm glad I seem to be doing at least one thing right," I offered, a half-grin twisting my face. It was easier to talk to her than to him. I still had no insight into her, but at least if she spoke, she was straightforward.

"No," she said, "you're doing the best that you can in your other role, under the circumstances. But before he enlists you too deep in his... hunt," she continued, "you should have enough information to guide your responses." Her gaze focused further on me, icy and clear, and the noise in the coffee shop receded, as she drew me in.

"Tell me-- if you had to choose one animal, just one, with whom to compare our favorite Special Agent, then what would you choose?"

That was easy. "A lone wolf. He's the classic solitary aggressor, an alpha-male." As she often called him.

She smiled, slyly, as if she was about to clue me in to the secrets of the universe. "Very good, Lance, very good-- but not quite." Oh, she called me by my first name, and that smile, oh, it's amazing. "What else do you know about wolves? Tell me everything you know."

I rubbed the back of my neck. "Not much, I'm afraid. Animal behavior wasn't something we studied as part of abnormal psychology."

She sat back, took a sip of her coffee, and honed her gaze on me again. "Then listen, and I'll tell you." She took another sip, and then began to speak, her voice low and seductive as her eyes pierced me. My lord. Does she talk like this in her lectures? No wonder she's such a popular professor.

"There is a defined hierarchy among wolves. Heading each pack are two alphas, one male, and one female. Their offspring and other related members of the pack are betas in varying degrees, all submissive to the hunting and mating and territorial priorities set by the alphas. There's an old myth that wolves mate for life, and while that's not entirely true, especially in the event of the death of one of the alphas, it is often true. And a lone alpha can lead a pack for some time, while choosing a mate with whom to attempt to secure the health of the pack. You must understand, the alpha pair coordinate hunting, together. It's a team effort, and a coordinated hunt yields more food for the entire pack than a hunt led primarily by one of the alphas, and not jointly, by both. Within the pack hierarchy, and even among wolves of equal status, there are defined, universal means of communication, and until those means of communication and mutual status are recognized, the overall relationships between the wolves, even the alphas, remains in flux. It is not until each member of the pack fully accepts each other wolf's status that the pack can run completely in harmony. Don't get me wrong-- there are many, many, successful packs where the social hierarchy is not completely settled, and that does not signal the death of the pack as a working and living group. But there is another member of the pack's social hierarchy-- the omega wolf."

I could feel my face bunching in confusion. I'd never heard the term.

"The omega wolf is not an alpha wolf-- far from it. The omega is the member of the pack who leaves-- almost always a male, though occasionally a female. There can be any number of reasons-- an actual fight, which it loses, with the alphas, or more neutrally, disagreement with the alpha member of the same sex in a fight for dominance. There may have been an attempt to mate with a higher-ranked female without permission from the alpha male, an attempt to deviate from the territorial or hunting priorities of the pack, very occasionally, an orphaned cub only grudgingly nurtured through adolescence by the pack, and then held to harsh standards of hunting and breeding not applied to unorphaned cubs."

She paused, as her gaze continued to hold me in place. I only half-knew where she was going.

"For whatever reason, the omega wolf will eventually leave the pack-- the lone wolf you mentioned. It may travel and hunt alone for a long time, learning for itself what territorial and hunting decisions make sense, while skirting the territory of other packs, and assessing, always assessing, whether each new pack encountered will accept it, either as a beta member, or whether there is a weakness in the current alpha wolves that can be exploited, to allow them to take over the pack, and once again be a member of society. Because, Lance, and this is important, wolves are inherently social creatures, no matter how long they run alone, and they crave the membership of a group as an inherent part of their nature, no matter how long they have succeeded under lone wolf conditions."

She took another sip of her coffee, licking her lips slowly as her gaze never wavered from mine. I was mesmerized.

"When a lone male enters a pack with an established alpha female, there is an opportunity for the male to achieve alpha status. But the process can be somewhat complicated, because during the omega lone wolf's break from society, he may come to forget all the roles each wolf plays, and overassert his aggression. He may fail to display the proper amount of submission to the alpha female in his attempt to show off his strength, his worthiness for the alpha male role. He may try to take over the hunts, and ignore the fact that the female kept the pack fed and in health before his arrival. He can fail to acknowledge the female's role as the disciplinarian over her cubs, and attempt to usurp her role in the day-to-day maintenance of non-hunt pack operation. His divergences from all the proper behaviors can also be influenced by his success at exhibiting same within his last pack. If for some reason, the last pack did not properly acknowledge his attempts to communicate within the standard hierarchical structure, then it may impact the lone wolf's willingness to display those same behaviors in the new pack. The female alpha decides where the den will be, and it is her role to determine how much and in what order the lower-ranking members of the pack are fed. The female alpha accepts that it is the male alpha who patrols the territory, with select beta males, to ensure no incursions by unwelcome omegas, but when the male alpha returns to the den, he must acknowledge the female's authority within her own competence, and he must admit her to all hunting decision making. If he does not, then the alpha female has the right to communicate that her complete acceptance of his status as a mate, rather than as an unmated alpha, is conditioned upon his submission in the appropriate areas. In the meantime, to ensure the continuation of the pack, she may decide to mate with a beta-male, which also serves to reinforce to the alpha male that his advances toward mating will only be fully accepted once he has acknowledged that there are areas in which he must also submit."

Despite the fact that I was drinking my coffee, my mouth was becoming increasingly dry.

"When the male shows the appropriate level of submission, Lance, the female will accept him as a mate. This may take some time. And in the meantime, she works with the alpha male toward hunting, and pack protection, as best as she can, asserting her aggression slowly but steadily, until he finally acknowledges her co-equal status."

She took another sip, that mysterious, dare I say, lupine, smile on her face, and continued. "Here's how wolves communicate. _This is important_. Dominant wolves will freely look other animals directly in the eye, this declares and reinforces their superior rank. A dominant wolf stands stiff-legged and tall. The ears are erect and forward, and it bristles its hackles, slightly. Often the tail is held vertical and curled toward the back. A dominant lupine may also stare penetratingly at a subordinate wolf, or pin it to the ground, "ride up" on its shoulders, or even stand on its hind legs. A submissive wolf can show it in one of two ways-- active, or passive. In active submission, the entire body is lowered, and the lips and ears are drawn back. Sometimes active submission is accompanied by a rapid thrusting out of the tongue and lowering of the hindquarters. The tail is placed down, or halfway or fully between the legs, and the muzzle often points up to the more dominant animal. The back may be partially arched as the submissive wolf humbles itself. Passive submission is more intense than active submission. The wolf rolls on its back and exposes its vulnerable throat and underside. The paws are drawn into the body. This is often accompanied by whimpering. In accepting the submission, a higher-ranked wolf will then allow displays of affection, including grooming of the subordinate, or touching muzzles, briefly. The alphas rarely engage in passive submission, between one another. It's not necessary, and it undermines the hierarchy when observed by other pack members. But when it comes to the location and protection of the den, and the care of the other members of the pack who preceded the omega's arrival, the alpha male is expected to expose its muzzle to the alpha female, at least. If it does not do so, then its other expressions of alpha-male interest will not be accepted, and may, in fact, be ignored."

And then she dropped the bomb. "When wolves express an interest in mating, there are also characteristic behaviors. When the two wolves are about to mate, or express an interest in mating, they bond, sleeping close and touching each other more and more. They will approach each other making quiet whining sounds, mouth each others' muzzles, touch noses, and bump their bodies together. There may be mutual grooming and nibbling of each other's coats and the two may walk pressed close together. The Male may bow to the female, toss and tilt his head, and lay his legs over her neck in what could only be described as a flirting manner. The two may even sleep side by side. The female may accept all these advances by the male, at least in so far as she does not seize him by the throat with her teeth and force him to his belly, and actively demand the submission-- that would undermine his status with the rest of the pack, and is undesirable from the female's perspective as well, since her acceptance of him that far indicates an interest in him as a mate over any other. But she will not consummate the fully functional pack relationship of a mated pair until the omega-turned-alpha accords her full status in the areas of her natural dominance. And the reason is this. As a social animal, the alpha-female's status as such is predicated not just on her own natural superiority, but on the pack's social recognition of this. The superiority is fed and reinforced by outside recognition. _Without that recognition, her own abilities can slide_. That, Lance, is why it is critical for the omega-alpha male to acknowledge the female's full status-- before she either loses her status entirely, or throws him out of the pack, and the pack becomes unstable and at-risk again without the strong, mated, co-equal pair."

I swallowed, as she finished and reduced the intensity of her gaze, as if she'd released her teeth from my throat during her assertion of her dominance over me. I had only one question.

"And what role do the beta pack members play in reinforcing the alpha-female's status, in a non-sexualized manner, with the omega-alpha-male?"

She smiled, slowly, and yes, it was wolfish. "Appropriate submission to the omega-alpha's rightful dominance in his areas of expertise, and exaggerated submission to the alpha-female's dominance in her areas of expertise. There need not be a conflict in displaying those behaviors, and with continued reinforcement of the betas' submission to the alpha-female, he will eventually integrate those same submissions into his own behaviors, and eliminate the lingering vestiges of anti-social omega behaviors."

Under any other circumstances, I would say her analysis missed something. Humans are usually more complex than animals. But she was right-- when it came to such basic matters as mating, and territory, and protecting one's chosen pack, the more basic behaviors governed, and strongly. And if that didn't describe what they did every day in their jobs, then I don't know what did.

Her logic, and her dominance, was irrefutable, so I did the only thing I could-- I loosened my tie and collar, bared my throat, and tilted my head to the side, as I said, "Thank you for the information. I'll do what I can with it."

She smiled, wolfish and sly, then rose from her seat and approached me. Bending, she placed her cheek along mine, then placed a chaste kiss on my cheek and said, with a slight, whispered growl, "Good boy. See you later." And then, damnit, she patted the top of my head, scratching her hand through my hair and down the back of my neck, then between my shoulderblades before patting me once more, and leaving.

I stood and gathered my papers, shoved them into my briefcase, and tossed the remnants of our coffees, which she'd left behind for me to clean up. I had to get to the bookstore, and find a text on animal behaviors. Fast.


	4. Chapter 4

It was late, almost suppertime. They'd had to push our appointment back because a body had been found, but I hoped I'd been using the intervening time productively.

There was one solid knock before the door opened, and he held it open with one arm as the other came to her back to lead her into the room. His body inclined toward hers as he let go of the door, and he stood behind the couch for a moment until she was settled. She neither leaned into, nor pulled away from his touch, as he sat, as always, his body turned partly toward his, and her near shoulder tilted, almost imperceptible, towards him. How had I forgotten her training in kinesiology? She was reading us all like an open book.

"Hey, Sweets, how are you?" he asked, his smile fairly open and anticipatory.

"I'm well, Agent Booth, thank you for asking." I have him a slight smile and a nod, then laid down the book I'd been reading on the table between us, and turned my body and my attention to her. "How are you, Dr. Brennan?" I trust things are well?"

She smiled, only a trace of amusement flickering in her eyes-- which she would now let me see. "I'm fine, Dr. Sweets, thank you. How are you?" Ah, excellent, she was acknowledging that even as a beta, I had my own status.

"Fine, thanks, I appreciate your asking." I paused. "Well, I know you two are busy, and I heard you have a new case. What's it about?"

She tilted her head slightly toward him, an unspoken acknowledgement of his primary role in defining and defending their territory. He gave the basic overview, the witness reports, the general situation of the scene, and then, started to describe the condition of the body.

"Mmm-hmm, sounds interesting. What else did you find, Dr. Brennan?"

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him straighten slightly, but she saw it too and turned slightly further toward him, catching his eye and smiling as she began to detail her expert analysis. "We also spoke to some witnesses, after-- I have some observations, but Booth should go first."

My God, she was masterful. I realized now that she'd always run some level of this in our sessions, though in the past, it had been a more overt striving for dominance. When had she shifted her focus? Things between them did seem more open, after his "death" and Dr. Addy's betrayal, in some way. Had the events caused her to make up her mind, at least on some level? Since then, she was not... deferential to him in sessions-- it was more as if she was actively trying to share. I'd have to ask her, if I could get her alone.

His chest puffed out slightly, and he smiled at her, looping his arm across the back of the couch, his hand near the back of her neck, as he began the next part of the story. I'd decided, last night, that I wouldn't actively try to lead the session, and would instead use the opportunity to observe further, given the new perspective Agent Booth's actions had brought. It was just as well-- Dr. Brennan's ... instruction this morning would have completely upended any plans I might have made anyway.

I asked interested questions about the case with part of my attention, as I tried to decide if my profiling services would be needed, but at one point, he interrupted her while she was describing how much longer it would be until she could determine the cause of death, since there was no obvious trauma.

"Come on, Bones, you can go faster than that," he said, a cranky note in his voice as he leaned further in toward her. Aha. Over-aggression in an area in which he had less competence. Oh, she was good.

"I'm curious, Dr. Brennan-- what are the steps you have to take under these circumstances, and how long does it take?"

He rolled his eyes and said, "Ah, Bones is just hedging."

I looked at him for a moment, then turned my attention back to her, avoiding his eyes. "Well, I'm curious. From my limited understanding, it's my impression that some of these tests take quite a while. It's fascinating, and complicated, really."

"Thank you," she murmured, again turning slightly toward him so that he was in her primary line of sight. She then began to describe why she wanted certain tests, what they involved, and how long each took, including whether and how the data needed to be re-checked or cross-compared.

He listened, attentively, and when she stopped, he looked at her and said, "You never told me all that, before."

Returning his look, seriously, "Well, you usually don't let me explain, although I'll admit I could be a little clearer about why I need to do some of them."

Wow. She managed both an assertion of dominance _and_ a display of willingness to share her expertise, to allow him co-equal alpha status in that aspect of the investigation, if he proved himself submissive enough to listen and learn. My God. He relaxed back into the cushions, gave her a smile in return, and then turned his attention back to me.

"So what's next, do you think?" I looked between both of them, curious to see who would take up the verbal ball. She tipped her shoulder in and he flicked her a glance before beginning to outline his thoughts as to the next steps to be worked on pending identification of the victim and the cause of death, and they took turns describing how the investigation might go depending on the results of the lab's analysis of the remains.

At one point when she began to discuss the possibility of conducting cold interviews in the area where the remains were found, he interjected. "I've got a bad feeling about this one, though, no good reason yet, but I do. I'm not sure I want to do too much poking around until we've got the COD lined up, Bones, there's no telling who's going to take a shot when we're not quite sure what we're dealing with."

She opened her mouth, poised to respond with some critical response, but I shifted in my chair then, directing my posture toward him slightly, and her expression shifted as she caught my motion. She then said, inquisitively and non-critically, "Is there anything generally that gives you that feeling that you can point to?"

He paused, thought, and looked back at her, the two of them looking at each other, eye to eye. He explained some of his general concerns and observations, his hesitance to guess more, and then actually related an anecdote from the past that had similar circumstances that led him to be wary in this case. She listened quietly, then nodded, and said, "Well, that makes sense."

Good lord. If they kept this up, I'd be out of a job in a month. He smiled, then looked at his watch, and smiled at me as he looked down across the table. "What are you reading there, Sweets?"

I picked up the book and handed it to him. "Just a book about wolves and other pack animals. There was a fascinating documentary on this morning about pack behavior that piqued my interest. It's fascinating, really, and the book's quite accessibly written, which is good for me, since I don't have a behavioral background." He flipped the cover over and read the back, then opened it and scanned the table of contents, then flipped through the pages.

"That actually does look interesting."

I smiled. "Well, you're welcome to borrow it when I'm done."

He returned the smile and put the book down, sliding it across the table back to me. "Thanks, Sweets."

She looked at her watch, then, and stood, smiling as she said, "If you don't mind, Lance, I'm rather hungry since we missed lunch, and I've got to be up early tomorrow. Would you mind if we cut this a little short, and we can make up the rest of the time later?"

Ah. Use of the first name coupled with a deferential acknowledgment of my own authority and status. My nonexistent tail was practically wagging as I stood and smiled at her in return. "Sounds fine with me, I'm pretty bushed. See you two later."

She smiled in return, then tipped her head, stepping to the side of the couch slightly. I took the cue and stepped forward to open the door for both of them, tipping my head slightly upward as she passed me and touched me on the arm before saying "Goodnight." He looked slightly puzzled, but overall, pleased with the way the session had gone, and clapped me on the shoulder with a smile as he followed her, his hand coming to rest on her back.

Signs of approval from the alpha male and female, and a harmonious interaction. They were both playing me, but as long as both their results kept, I was perfectly happy to roll over and show my belly.


	5. Chapter 5

My cell phone rang several days later-- his cell phone number.

"This is Lance Sweets."

"Sweets-- Booth. Look, do you have a few hours? We've got an interesting pickle here."

I checked my calendar-- "I had a cancellation, I'm free. Are you at the lab?"

"Yep."

"Alright, I'll be over shortly."

"Thanks. See you then." And then he hung up, no inefficient goodbyes or further chatter. Rather like Dr. Brennan.

- - - - -

When I arrived, they were all on the platform, as they often were at the outset of a case when they were trying to tease out all of the pieces of the puzzle. This time, though, I was astonished at what I saw, and stopped short just inside the doorway. I'd always analyzed individuals' body languages and physical behaviors, as providing an unconscious (and therefore important) insight into the mind of the person being observed. Dr. Brennan's conversation, had turned things completely around, and since then, I had begun observing group dynamics with a new eye-- and this group's dynamic, observed for the first time, was fascinating. Dr. Brennan's eyes flicked up, momentarily, as did his, noticing me, but neither beckoned me over immediately, so I stood there a moment, observing.

Dr. Brennan was standing behind an examination table in the exact middle of the table, with a view of all of the entrances of the platform, and he was standing slightly to the side and directly behind her, between her and anything that might come, unexpected, from behind. I realized now that this was their standard positioning on the platform, and indeed, in many social settings. She took a central, direct, confrontational position, and he... prowled? patrolled? around her and whomever they were dealing with. Dr. Saroyan was standing opposite her, with her back to the primary entrance to the platform, and Dr. Hodgins and Ms. Montenegro stood to the sides, and slightly back from Dr. Saroyan. As much as I knew the two sometimes resented Dr. Saroyan, it seemed that they had accepted her authority-- somewhat. But the fact remained that all three of them had their backs to the platform, and were oriented, wholly, toward the two partners. There was a flurry of almost nonentity graduate students and lab techs, fluttering on and off the platform like moths, bringing information to various members of the team but as I watched, I realized something. Not a one of them ever turned their back to the two partners if they could help it. Every single one of them walked or stood around them with them as the center.

Certainly, I was sure the two of them were aware they were the center. But was everyone else? Was Dr. Saroyan? How did Dr. Brennan see her? As a beta female with surrogate alpha authority? I would have to ask her if I could get her alone. How did he see this arrangement? Did he know this was the den, and did he acknowledge this was her pack? Their pack? Certainly she had allowed him in, but I wondered on what level he understood it. Perhaps he saw it as an infiltration. Clearly, though, he was aware of his (and her) dominant posture over the room and maintained his usual hunter's vigilance over all lines of sight. But she did, too, and I was sure that not all of that was due to his choice of positioning. They were simply of a mind on that point. She was asking questions and he was occasionally, too, to which the other three were responding and discussing. She was clearly leading the discussion, however, and it seemed as though as each topic was exhausted, either she or the Agent always chose the next question.

I walked forward and slid my card at the base of the platform, then mounted the stairs. Neither Agent Booth nor Dr. Brennan looked up at my approach, having already noted my presence, but the other three turned glances my way as I arrived, Dr. Saroyan noticing first. I decided to stand off to the side of their little arrangement. Fitting, since my primary relationship was with them, and not with the rest of the team, and in any event, they hadn't fully decided where I fit. Hell, neither had I. But aside from sarcastic needling, none of them had actually challenged my presence seriously-- not since the two of them brought me in for profiling work. I'm sure if one of them had a real problem with me, I'd never hear about it-- but they would.

"Hey, all, how's it going?" Agent Booth gave me the overview, then paused and she detailed the technical findings herself, as well as several more things she needed to check once more-- the nature of the wounds, the suspected fatal wound, the nature of the suspected weapon. She occasionally asked one of the other members of the team to expand, or paused and looked at Dr. Saroyan to... allow... her to expand. I offered some thoughts on the motive and emotions displayed by the injuries and their locations, as well as on the manner of the remains' disposal as detailed by Dr. Hodgins, then posited some potential avenues for further investigation, including physical cues to the suspects' mental state to watch out for. He nodded, agreed out loud, and then looked at her before saying, "Well, we don't have enough yet to bring them in, but if you want to come with when we go out to the job site, you're welcome." She nodded, as the rest of the team dispersed to other tasks. He then placed his hand on her back as if to steer her from the platform. She turned, immediately, into his physical space, and said calmly but seriously, "I'm not done here yet, you heard me tell that to Dr. Sweets. I'll be done in a half hour. You two can either go back to the Hoover and I'll meet you there, or you can wait in my office."

He paused, not intimidated by her presence so close to him (of course, the two of them seemed to have completely different physical rules with each other than any other mixed partnership I'd ever worked with, but then again, there was always clearly one dominant partner), and looked at her for a moment before responding, lightly, "Whoa there, Bones, we'll go wait in your office." She turned without further acknowledging his response, and bent again over the remains. He cocked an eyebrow at me, then led the way off the platform. She had a small smile on her face as we left.

"Way to back me up there, Sweets," he grumbled as we entered her office, he automatically taking the couch as I sat in one of the chairs opposite him. I'd noticed in the past that the couch was theirs, and that no one ever sat on it unless one or the other of them had indicated disinterest by taking another seat. In fact, since I'd been working with them, I don't think I'd ever seen one or the other take the chair in favor of the couch, if the other had already taken the couch. Interesting.

"Well, she might not have appreciated being pushed off her platform, you know. She doesn't come into your office and start hauling you bodily out of there, does she?"

He looked at me evenly before responding, "Nah, Bones knows I just want to get going."

"True. But does she ever unnecessarily hold you up or make you late? Or does she always have a good reason?"

He thought some more and then glared at me. "Whose side are you on?"

I gave him an honest answer, my voice low. "Rule number four. She's your partner, no matter what. Period."

He narrowed his eyes and regarded me further, then got up to stand in the doorway, looking back at the platform with his hands on his hips. After a moment or two, he nodded, and said without looking back at me, "I'm going to get coffee upstairs." He didn't offer to bring me any, and I didn't expect him to, but he didn't have to tell me where he was going, either, so as he walked away, I took his unspoken invitation to follow.

- - - - -

We were drinking our coffee, leaning on the railing of the lounge and looking down on the platform, as Dr. Brennan continued to work, intent on what was directly in front of her with that enviable, unblinking focus she brought to her work. Her back was to us, but I was sure she was fully aware where we were, even as she hadn't looked up when we walked past the platform on our way up here. Dr. Saroyan re-entered the platform, and moved into Dr. Brennan's line of sight, then... waited, until Dr. Brennan looked up at her in a moment or two.

I shot him an inquiring look, more in my gaze than I meant to show. He flicked a look back down to the platform then answered, voice low. "I'm not sure Cam fully understands how little Bones wants to be bothered with all the administrative crap. And somebody's got to keep this place running when we're out in the field." Of course. He has an instinctive understanding of authority relationships as an outsider, assessing where to begin work toward his goals. But I wondered, in the end, how he perceived the group. Did he seem himself as a part or even as the head of it, acknowledge the relationships that he'd built? Or did he think they were tools toward his primary end-- their partnership, and whatever more he was looking for from her.

"Has Dr. Saroyan indicated an interest in more general field work?"

He shot me a look, then shook his head. "Only when there's something really 'meaty' Bones doesn't want to be bothered with. Cam's good, but Bones is just better."

I took a gamble and offered, "Dr. Brennan enjoys the thrill of the chase."

He nodded, frowning, not looking at me. "A little too much, sometimes."

Something clicked, and finally, I understood it-- the essential, fundamental tension between them, the romantic and sexual aspect of things aside. He welcomed her company, wanted it, and on some level accepted the truth that a lone wolf pulls down smaller game than two alphas, working together, but he hadn't yet completely accepted her ability to care for herself. Sure, there were plenty of hairy situations he'd had to save her from, but there hadn't been any to speak of since I'd been working with them. He was constantly guarding her and himself around her. When was the last time he had let her guard him? Ever? I would have to reread that incident report from the time he was kidnapped-- and work on my own avoidance issues around the Pam Nunan incident. I had seriously misjudged there, with my stupid experiment, and now that I knew what an idiot I'd been, I mentally crossed my fingers that I hadn't damaged anything, permanently.

"It must be... unnerving working with someone who is willing to risk so much danger in pursuit of the close of the case." He said nothing, didn't even look at me, just took another sip of his coffee. He wouldn't admit to being unnerved to me, not unless he was really distressed, and even then, I still couldn't be sure. The only distress I'd ever seen him really display was when I attacked her in session or after he found out why she hadn't been told about his 'death,' and both times the distress manifested itself as menace and anger, directed at me. I'd decided the second time that I had better watch my step-- as much as he tolerated me, it was clear that if I pushed him too far with regard to her, I would have hell to pay. Maybe literally-- he scared the hell out of me as much as I respected him and wanted them to work. Well, perhaps a little old-fashioned reverse psychology.

"Perhaps if you told Dr. Brennan to limit the risks she takes in the field?"

He snorted, a pained grin twisting his face as he continued to look down. "I'm sorry, I thought you were there at my funeral when she decked me. Bones can take care of herself."

Indeed. There'd been a few other agents there who gossiped for days about what a right hook she had. Granted, she took him by surprise when she hit him, but as one agent said, "Hardly anyone gets the drop on Booth." Except her, apparently. So I offered another observation. "Clearly. The way she took down Pam Nunan was... astonishing. Scary, too."

He shot me a dark, inscrutable look. "Yeah, perfect throat shot. I saw the pictures later. Of course, I knew she got her, I saw her hand steady out of the corner of my eye, before..." Then he trailed off and gave me a hard look, the same one he'd given me when he'd confronted me about my experiment in her office, and turned back to his coffee.

I lapsed into silence, working on my own coffee as I watched the beehive of activity below. Just as he looked at his watch, she looked over her shoulder at both of us, calmly, then peeled off her gloves and walked off the platform, acknowledging we'd been watching the whole time. Was she accepting the watching, or his guarding, or did she just know we were no threat? I stepped back just in time to avoid him as he pushed off the railing, then headed downstairs, his head turning slightly as he scanned the new sightlines when we hit the ground flloor. Didn't he get tired or being on alert, all the time?


	6. Chapter 6

We drove to the place of the victim's employer and met a large group of his co-workers. I was introduced as "Agent" Sweets. Interesting. I put on my best _'I'm new at this'_ face, and mostly observed, asking one or two questions I thought might be appropriate. Neither of them shot me a warning look. When we were done, and determined that the people we most needed to speak with were at the job site where the victim was last seen and from which Dr. Hodgins had located particulates, we got back into his truck, discussing further questions to ask as we drove. When we arrived, there were two trucks parked outside the half-constructed commercial building, and the site seemed otherwise empty. No one came out as we stopped and parked.

"No sounds of power tools," she murmured.

"And no one coming out to say hi," he replied. He shot her an indecipherable glance, which she returned, then he flicked a glance back at me, as she nodded. Leaning forward, she pulled something from the glove compartment, and I heard a metallic sliding sound, then a click.

"Ever fired a gun, Sweets?" he asked, as she turned to look at me as well, a nine millimeter pistol in her hand.

"Only at the range," I said, managing not to squeak as I responded.

She looked at me closely before responding. "Then stay back, or stay in the truck. Your choice." She looked at me keenly again, then got out, slipping the weapon into the rear waist of her pants, then settling her jacket. I took a breath, and got out to follow.

Agent Booth took the lead into the steel-framed building, his right hand poised near his holster. There was a second floor built, with a large central atrium and only one visible staircase. He kept to the wall, under the second floor structure, and Dr. Brennan followed, her hand likewise poised near her weapon, an arms' length behind him. I followed her, trying to maintain the same distance. She flicked me a glance over her shoulder and nodded, slightly.

"Hello? Anyone here? FBI, looking for Mike and Andy Summers? I talked to corporate, they sent me out," he called, following warrantless entry protocol. At the first doorway to the side, he stopped, stuck his head quickly through the door and then back, then nodded, proceeding across as we followed. They both froze at some noise, looking up in the same direction. I didn't hear it, whatever it was, but they exchanged another wordless glance, deciding something. Pacing slowly forward, they crept around the square until they were behind the one staircase, he motioning me to crouch with them underneath.

"Anyone here? Just looking to talk to Mike or Andy," he called. He looked at her.

"There's clearly no one here," she said, in a conversational tone.

"I agree, it's empty," I said at her nod.

"Fine, let's go. Damned wild goose chase. They said they'd be here. I'll call before hauling back out here tomorrow." He paused, then pointed the remote out toward the truck. I could hear the alarm and the engine start. Brilliant. They both pulled out their weapons, and stilled. It was minutes, but it felt like hours, as they listened, keenly, and then there was a shuffling directly above. He shifted to the side of the staircase, nodding at her as he left. As a foot reached the step level with her arms, she reached through and grabbed the ankle and tugged, prompting a yell as the body crashed to the floor. He was gone in an instant, calling "Freeze!" as something metal clattered and slid back toward us. She reached out and picked up the weapon, and handed it to me hilt first, point at the already off safety. I managed not to drop it when I took it from her.

Dr. Brennan then ducked out, and as he saw her level her weapon, he flipped the suspect and cuffed him, pulling out his wallet to check the identification.

"Hello, Mike," he said, his eyes amused. "Not a very good host today, are we?" As he flipped through the wallt, though, her head snapped up at some noise and she crouched, sweeping her partner's legs out from under him as a shot went past where he'd just been standing. He rolled up and each turned, listening, as steps ran overhead.

"I've got front," he called, and she looked at me, a _'now or never'_ look in her eye.

"Kick him if he moves, shoot him in the leg if he fights," she ordered, then was off, sprinting for the back of the building.

It felt like hours as I stood there, pointing the gun at the handcuffed man on the floor, as I heard another shot fire and one in return. I couldn't tell where they were, it seemed like the noise was all around. There was a man's cry, and a crash, then footsteps running and the meaty sound of a body hitting a wall.

"I've got him," she called, and there was another thudding body sound.

"Nice one, Bones!" I heard, then "You must be Andy," he said. "Hi, I'm Agent Booth, and I'll be reading you your rights today..."

Just then, the man before me started to roll away. I did my best Agent Booth imitation and kicking him in the side, trying to keep my voice steady. "You heard the lady, stay put." He turned his head to look at me, so I kicking him again, and he stilled. "Stay put."

Agent Booth returned not long after, pushing a handcuffed man before him as she followed-- scanning the sightlines, then nodding at me. I'd forgotten that the alpha male drags home the kill while the female keeps an eye out for trouble. She hauled my suspect up by the arms, and with a smile, shoved him toward me. I grabbed him by the shoulder, and shoved him back a step.

"Nice job, Lance," she said, then said, "I'll go call it in," and jogged off to the truck. Agent Booth forced his captive to sit on the stairs, and mine actually flinched as I gave him a shove and said, "Have a seat, pal."

My nonexistent tail was wagging. I'd helped with a hunt.

- - - -

The two men confessed, almost instantly. After we processed the rest of the case in the interrogation room, the two of them stood and stretched, gathering the paperwork.

She gave him one of their unreadable (to me) glances, and he looked over at me, then spoke, smiling. "We usually go to the diner when we wrap a case up. Want to come, Lance?"

Thank goodness I'm human. My ears would have been all the way forward in joy by now, otherwise. "Sure," I replied, then followed them out of the room toward the exit. They walked close to each other, their hips touching as they rounded the corner, she smiling up at him as she ducked under his arm as he held the elevator door open for both of us.

- - - -

"You two work well together," I said, between mouthfuls of pie. I could see why he was always trying to get her to try some. It was good pie, not merely seduction. "Thanks for letting me come."

"Thanks for helping," he said, his arm over the back of her chair.

She smiled at him and then me, saying slyly, "And Booth didn't even yell at me when we got shot at."

He turned to look at her and said, seriously, "Well, you can take care of yourself, but that doesn't mean I won't continue to worry."

Wow.

She ignored me as she patted the hand he had laid on the table, then said, "Well, I can live with that. Just don't push me off of my platform."

"Done," he smiled, then went back to his pie, but not before ruffling her hair as she pinched his cheek in response. Mating behaviors-- mutual acceptance and grooming.

Watching them for a moment more, between mouthfuls of pie, I decided. "Well, guys," I said, "my work here is done. It seems like you've resolved your underlying issues. I see no need to continue our sessions."

They both smiled at me, seemingly only slightly surprised. Who knows? It's hard to tell with them, sometimes.

"Great," he replied. "But don't think you're getting out of profiling, just because you're done headshrinking us."

"Wouldn't miss it for the world," I said, standing, and leaving some cash for my meal. I meant it. I would look forward to hunting with them again. He stood up and shook my hand, clasping my arm with the other. As she started to stand, he shot me a small wink. She mock-shoved him aside, and gave me a small kiss on the cheek, the hand she'd brought to between my shoulderblades scratching lightly, an echo of her earlier "Good boy." I adjusted my necktie as she looked on and smiled, then gave them a wave and walked off. When I'd exited and walked past where they were sitting, he'd taken my seat, and she reached across to take his hand. Brilliant smiles bloomed on both of their faces.

Yeah, they'd keep.


	7. Chapter 7

They were arguing over the last discount egg roll at Hop Lee's, smiles on both of their faces as they squabbled. The detritus of a well-enjoyed meal was evident-- empty plates, a few drained beer bottles and wine glasses, and bits of fried rice on the table. It was late, and the restaurant was emptying out. Their "strictly conversational" meal had lasted nearly three hours.

"You know, Bones," he said, softly, as he split the last eggroll in the middle and picked up his half, pushing the other half to her, "I really am sorry about Gay Jason and Mark."

"You should be, you know," she said, wearing a slightly pained look. "I don't think either of them would have responded the way they did if you hadn't scared both of them off."

He paused, a look of worry and contrition passing over his face, and then said, "Really, I'm sorry." He paused again, and looked at her searchingly, as she stared back. Her chest was heaving again, the way it had in Sweets' office earlier, before she sighed and looked away.

As she looked out the window, she said, "I should have just punched you at the diner, you know."

He rubbed the back of his neck. Something had changed, there, back in the therapist's office, and now he was at a loss for words. He'd spent all his eloquence expressing _almost_ what he wanted to say. Almost, but not quite. Because "there's someone you're meant to be with the rest of your life," is not the same as "it's me, only me!"

"Bones, it's just... those guys aren't good enough for you." She flicked him an unreadable glance, then looked back out the window, her chin in her hand.

Looking away from him, and with a tired note in her voice, she spoke again. "So who is, then, Booth? If there's someone I'm meant to be with for the rest of my life, then where the hell is he? You said I just have to be ready to see it, but you know what, Booth? I'm not blind." She turned back to him, a wistful and lonely look on her face as she repeated herself. "I'm not blind. Do you know what I see?"

His breath caught in his throat at the naked expression on her face. It was time. She'd made up her mind about something, and for the life of him, he both knew what it was and was terrified about what she might mean. "What, Bones?"

She leaned in, and like the magnetic, irresistible force that she was, he leaned in, too, until their faces were inches away from each other. Slowly, sadly, and determinedly, she said, "I see a line, Booth. I see a whole lot of promises with words and phrases like '_eventually_' and _'more than one kind of family_' and _'making love'_ and _'no betrayal'_ and '_you're special_,' scattered across both sides of the line, and now, I see today's little speech. I also see guy hugs and dead bodies and broken rules that would never have happened if we'd been working by ourselves. What I _don't_ see, though, is the maker of the line and those promises doing anything about it, even as I've seen footsteps on both sides right up to the line. I know you're not a coward, but it's your line, so I assume you have some good reason for leaving it there. So make up your mind, Booth. I get lonely at night, and I'd rather spend them with you than keep looking for a ... surrogate. I'm tired of promises. So tell me, Seeley, are you that someone you were talking about earlier?"

He drew in a breath at the use of his first name-- she'd never used it before, and just by its use, he could tell she was deadly serious. That her eyes were as blue as a midnight sky only echoed the seriousness of the moment, and with an internal sigh, he voiced that one, critical, line-minding doubt. "Temperance, I hope so, but I don't want to stop working with you."

She nodded, her eyes locked on his, and reached across to take his hand in hers. "I don't want to stop working with you. You're my partner and my best friend, Seeley, but I think they'd honestly be insane to try to break up our partnership if we were to get involved. As Angela's so fond of telling me, we act like an old married couple already. I thought a lot about your stupid line when you were dead, Booth, and I know I sure as hell want it gone. But it's yours to remove." A flicker of uncertainty flashed across her face, but she kept her eyes locked with his as she waited for his response.

He smiled, slowly but fully, his eyes warming from dark chocolate to nearly molten amber. "Then it's gone. No more line. Done." Pausing, his gaze still on hers, he thought and then added, "It's not out of the realm of possibility for involved couples to continue to work together, but it has to be approved by a therapist."

She snorted. "Sweets? Can't you just threaten to shoot him?" She snorted again, and then said, "No, I know what you mean. He takes his job seriously, and he's really only trying to help."

He frowned and shook his head. "Yeah, I know, but he's got a warped conception of who we are. He thinks I'm a stone cold killer, and that you're emotionally distant and incapable of having an honest conversation about your feelings."

She nodded, then added, "He thinks you see the world through the scope of a rifle, and that I see the world only through an anthropological lens."

He grimaced. "Maybe we tried to scare him off a little too much in those sessions, then. We didn't really let him get to know anything but those parts of us."

She nodded, then thought, smiling as he turned their hands over and stroked the palm of her hand with his thumb. "It's not that I don't trust him with my secrets, it's just, you're the _only_ one I trust with my secrets."

He smiled, saying softly, "Me too, Bones. But we've got to find some way to make him sign off on us."

She smiled as the waiter came to clear the plates and dropped the check, then started to reach for it as his hand clamped down on her wrist. "Bones, come on now. You're not going to let me be an alpha-male enough to get the check before I drive you home and show you what you've been missing?" He flashed her his irresistible Charm Smile, his eyes glinting with desire.

She smirked, and said, "You mean before I _let_ you drive me home and show you what _you've_ been missing with all those beta females, don't you?"

He burst out laughing, and pulled her hand up for a kiss, before letting go long enough to pull out his wallet, some cash, and the coupon they'd kidded about earlier. "Whatever, Bones. I'll meet you halfway."

She smiled and stood, and patiently waited for him to help her on with her coat, as they walked out and returned to his truck. "Don't pretend like half your alpha-male behaviors weren't just excuses to get your hands on me, Booth." He guffawed, then backed her into the still-closed door, grasping her face in his hands as he pulled her up for a kiss. Long moments passed as her hands pulled his head to her in return. When they came up for air, each was smiling, wickedly, lustfully, at the other. "Let's go, alpha-female," he growled, nipping at the exposed skin of her throat left bare by her coat, "before I let my instincts run away with me." She burst out laughing, then, and pulled him in for another kiss.

"Booth," she whispered seductively, bringing her mouth alongside his ear, "I have an idea about how to convince Dr. Sweets to sign off on a non-surrogate relationship, without our having to talk too much about ourselves, but without really lying to him, either. It would just involve... reinforcing... his conceptions of us toward a mutually agreeable end."

He opened the door for her, and earned a light slap when he didn't resist the urge (so long suppressed) to cup his hand on her bottom as he helped her into the truck. Laughing, he closed the door and came back around, settling into his seat only to find her hand already there, pinching him back in retaliation. He yelped in surprise, then snaked his hand behind her head to pull her halfway for another deep kiss.

"Do tell, Doctor Alpha Female."

The mischievous glint in her eye drew him in. "Funny you should say that, Army Ranger Agent Booth. What do you know about wolf packs?"

"Bones, you know full well I minored in Wildlife Biology."

An observer standing nearby would have heard them laughing together, occasionally trading wolf calls, until they high-fived and then kissed, steaming up the windows for several minutes before the engine started and the truck pulled out of the lot. Except for the full, sanguine Hunter's Moon shining above, though, the lot was empty. The silent, all-knowing moon laughed to himself as it watched his two favorite and new-mated children plan their next chase. It would be a hunt without casualties, a sort of training game, but a serious one. His favorite hunters were playing for keeps. He could tell the pairing would last.


End file.
